Masks
by drollydragon
Summary: Soon after banishment on his way out of the Fire Nation, Zuko stops at his family's old beach house. This is presumably his first stop on his search for the Avatar, but could there be another reason for this visit? Why does Zuko use the alter-ego of the Blue Spirit, and what does it mean to him?


A seven-year-old Zuko's feet sank into the sand of Ember Island as he exited the theater, trailing a few steps behind his mother. He squinted as the bright island sunlight filled his vision. Alongside him walked his younger sister Azula, his father Prince Ozai, his uncle Iroh, and Iroh's son Lu Ten. Ozai looked exasperated.

"Must we take them to see that atrocious play every year, Ursa?" he asked, turning his head toward Zuko's mother. "The actors aren't even good."

Ursa laughed. "Oh, I know, but they enjoy it. Don't you?" she added, glancing down at her children.

Zuko nodded happily. "Yeah! _Love Amongst the Dragons_ is the best play I've ever seen!"

Lu Ten smiled. "It's the only play you've ever seen, Zuko."

Zuko giggled. "Yeah, I know. But still! I like it when the Dragon Emperor turns back into a dragon and falls in love."

Azula snorted. "I like the part where he beats up the Dark Water Spirit."

Zuko frowned at her. "He doesn't _beat him up._ He just defeats him!"

His sister grinned. "Sure. And _then_ he beats him up. Like... _this_!" She shoved Zuko's shoulder, sending him tumbling head-over-heels into the sand.

"Ugh!" Zuko snorted sand out of his nose. "Hey! Not funny!" he whined as Azula burst into laughter. Iroh and Lu Ten came over to help him up while Ursa scolded her daughter.

"Azula, we do not push each other," she said. "If you want to keep coming to Ember Island, you have to play nicely with your brother."

"Oh, come on, he's _fine_ ," Azula grumped. "Come on, Zuzu, let's go act out the final battle!"

"Stop _calling_ me that!" Zuko ran off through the dunes to join his sister, and they immediately began squabbling over who would play the emperor and who would play the water spirit.

"You're _always_ the Dragon Emperor!" Zuko insisted. "It's my turn this time!"

"Yeah, but the emperor has to win, and we both know you could never do that, not against me."

"Not true!"

"It so is."

"Alright, calm down, you two," their uncle chuckled, walking over to them. "How about Zuko and I be the Blue Spirit together?" He looked down at his nephew. "Then it would be two-against-one. Would that be fair?"

Azula rolled her eyes as Zuko reluctantly nodded. "Okay," she relented, "but that's not what it's called, Uncle."

Zuko grinned as Iroh lifted him up onto his shoulders. The three of them walked down to the shore and began mock-fighting, throwing punches that never connected and producing little tongues of flame. Azula pointed out that a water spirit shouldn't be able to firebend, so Iroh got on his knees, allowing Zuko to cup small amounts of seawater in his hands and splash Azula with them.

It was true that the Dark Water Spirit had to lose in the end, though, so eventually Iroh flopped on his back, landing him and little Zuko in the warm white sand. Zuko stood up and grabbed a large piece of driftwood. "Now Azula has to kiss the Dragon Empress!" he said gleefully.

"Ew!" Azula promptly lit the piece of wood on fire. "No, I'm going to rule the world by myself!"

"That's not how the story goes," Zuko started, but just then, Ursa and Lu Ten came down to the beach carrying an assortment of masks.

"We went into the gift shop and got these for you," Lu Ten explained. He held out three masks: one was for the Dragon Emperor, one for the Empress, and one for the Dark Water Spirit. Azula, of course, quickly snatched up the emperor's mask. Zuko opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it and reluctantly grabbed the spirit's mask. To his surprise, Lu Ten laughed. "I knew you'd get second pick and end up with that one," he said, "so I got these to go with it." He held out a rubber pair of broadswords. Zuko took them eagerly while Azula watched, looking jealous.

Ursa looked down at the empress's mask with a sad sort of smile that confused Zuko —it was only a mask, wasn't it?—, then put it on. The other masks were meant for adults and much too big for the siblings, but they attempted to wear them anyway as they walked back to the family's beach house, Zuko swinging his play swords around.

Later that evening, Ursa was tucking Zuko into bed. He had set his mask on his nightstand and was looking at it thoughtfully.

"Mom, why do you think the Blue Spirit wears a mask?" he asked.

"What makes you think that? It's only an actor wearing it. Also, where'd you get 'Blue Spirit' from? They only call him the Dark Water Spirit in the play."

"That's what Uncle Iroh calls him, and I think that sounds nicer. Anyway, I thought spirits were animals or humans, but he just looks like a monster, so I think he's a person with a mask on."

"Well, people usually wear masks because...because they want a new identity or a new...face, I suppose. Maybe they're famous and don't want to be bothered, or there's something on their face that they want to cover up, like a scar. They want to get away from recognition, away from the reality of who they are." She frowned for a moment, looking lost in thought.

"Mom?"

Ursa snapped back into focus. She cupped Zuko's face in her hands. "Zuko...I want you to promise me you won't look for a new identity. You should be proud of who you are and all the good things you've done. Never hide behind a mask. No matter what scars you get or what other people you might want to be, you are Prince Zuko. That's who you'll always be, and that's a good thing. Promise?"

"I promise." Ursa kissed his cheek and exited the room. Zuko stared at the Blue Spirit's mask. He got up and put it in the drawer of his nightstand, then got back into bed and closed his eyes. His mother didn't have to worry, he thought. He didn't want a mask and felt sure that he never would. It was only for play.

...

Wood creaked under Zuko's shoes as he climbed the steps of the old porch. He stood there for a moment, memories of family and fun overwhelming him. His hand went to his left eye. It was covered by a soft white bandage, but he still winced in pain at the pressure. Iroh stepped up beside him, looking concerned.

"Do you really think there's any chance the Avatar is here? In our old beach house?" he said, but his eyes probed Zuko with another question: _Is there another reason we're here?_

That was a bit too close to the truth for Zuko's liking. "Yes," he snapped. "If we're to find him, we must leave no stone unturned." He cringed a bit at his own voice: the mask of fake bravado and formality that seemed to have set in after his banishment. Was it really only five days ago? It felt like so, so much longer.

But what felt even longer ago was his family's trips to Ember Island, back when they all were actually happy. His mother, who always seemed so sad, was happy on those trips. Azula was happy (even if it was in her own twisted way that seemed to come from bullying Zuko). Lu Ten was alive. Even Fire Lord Ozai—or as he was called at the time, Fire _Prince_ Ozai—seemed at his most contented while on Ember Island.

But now, all that happiness was gone. Ozai was a cruel and cold-hearted dictator. Ursa was missing (or...dead…?). Azula was maniacal and crazy. Lu Ten was a cold body in the ground and Iroh and Zuko were both in exile, cursed with the wild goose chase of capturing the Avatar—or at least Zuko was. Iroh didn't seem to have any passion for that at all, even though he did all he could to help Zuko with it. He seemed more focused on tea and proverbs.

Zuko's uncle was confusing.

Zuko grunted and stormed into the house, lighting a plume of flame in his cupped hand. The hallways were lit with an eerie orange glow as Zuko made his way down.

"You're not looking in any of the rooms," Iroh observed mildly. Zuko shot him a glare as they came to an intersection.

"You go that way," he ordered, pointing left. Iroh nodded, lighting a fire of his own and walking away. Zuko turned right.

He continued to pass by every open door, and soon all thought of the Avatar was gone from his mind. He knew that Iroh was aware of the real reason for this visit, but Zuko would never admit that. His small crew, waiting outside on the small, old cruiser he'd been allowed to have, believed he was here to look for the airbender. The gift of a ship, however small, gave Zuko a tiny piece of hope that maybe his father didn't totally hate him...but that was a pretty big 'maybe'.

Speaking of whom...Zuko stopped at the door to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. It was cracked open a few inches, which surprised him because Ozai always locked it upon leaving. Zuko had never actually been inside, as his father liked to keep his things very private. As for sleeping with his mother when he was very young, Ursa had been given a seperate room. Curiosity getting the better of him, the prince pushed his way into the bedroom.

It didn't look like anything special. A dusty, king-sized bed. A desk with maps and other scrolls scattered across it. An old wooden dresser. Zuko wondered why his father had been so secretive. Maybe he just liked his privacy.

He walked over to the desk, a wrinkled poster catching his eye. It was an advertisement for the Ember Island Players' performance of _Love Amongst the Dragons_ , the play they'd gone to see every summer. Zuko stared for a moment at the character of the Dark Water Spirit—or as he and Iroh had called it, the Blue Spirit—hiding behind a mask. He was lurking in the shadows, wielding a pair of dual dao swords.

Zuko used the twin broadswords as well. In fact, that character had been what got him interested in swordplay. He'd talked about it so much that his parents finally had him train with Master Piandao, who was said to be the finest swordmaster in the world. Zuko's pair was hanging on the walls of his quarters on the ship...but there was another pair, wasn't there?

Zuko exited his father's room and went to the small room three doors down on the left. The single window had been broken somehow, allowing a warm, tropical breeze to wash over him. He looked at the little dragon figures on the dresser and the tiny red robes hanging in the closet, remembering all the nights he'd slept there. And there they were—hanging above his old twin bed, just over the headboard, was a pair of slightly undersized, rubber swords.

He walked over and picked them up. One of them was ripped on the end and the gray paint was rubbing off, but he smiled at them, remembering how he'd smack Azula with them when they would re-enact the final duel of the play.

Which reminded him...Zuko stared at the little mahogany nightstand and the single drawer that adorned it. He'd only ever put one thing in it.

He opened the drawer, and sure enough, there it was. Unlike the swords, which had been exposed to the elements because of the broken window, it was beautifully preserved, polished so it looked as new as the day he'd first worn it. He noticed for the first time how professional it was, especially for a gift shop item. It felt sturdy and strong, like it would actually be worn in a fight. Zuko walked over to the standing mirror by the door, wiped some dust off and tried the Blue Spirit's mask on.

He was a little shocked. What with the mask and the swords, he actually looked a lot like the spirit. No scar was visible; no bandage either. Maybe if he tucked his ponytail back…

"Zuko?"

Zuko froze and ripped off the mask, hiding it and the rubber swords casually behind his back as he turned to face his uncle. "What is it?" he inquired.

"There's nothing in the rooms down the hall. Are you ready to leave, or did you want to check upstairs?" Iroh's eyes flitted from his hand to the empty spot on the wall to the open drawer, and Zuko felt a wave of heat wash over his cheeks.

"Yes. Get back to the ship; I'll catch up."

Iroh nodded in agreement, and casting a last searching look at Zuko, departed. Zuko waited for his footsteps to fade and glanced at the items in his hand.

There was no reason to keep the swords. He gently hung them back on the wall. But the mask…

Zuko tried it on again and imagined for a moment that he wasn't Zuko. He wasn't from the Fire Nation, who were wreaking havoc on the whole world. He wasn't a banished outcast, disgraced with a scar on his eye. He didn't have to be himself for the few moments he wore that mask.

Zuko concealed the mask inside his robes. He wouldn't use it often, he told himself, and not for anything important. He just wanted to get those few moments of freedom every once in a while. He wouldn't really be hiding behind it.

Zuko walked back through the house, shutting the door to his room. If his uncle asked what took him so long, he'd stick to his story. Just a last check for the Avatar, he'd say. They'd go to the Western Air Temple first, he'd order.

While searching for the Avatar, Zuko would be himself...mostly. Sure, he'd use the facade of an intimidating commander, but really, he'd keep both his promises to his mother. One that he'd made in the very house he stood in, and one that he'd made before she left. He wouldn't hide behind a mask, and he wouldn't forget who he was. Surely he could manage that.

Zuko took a last look at the Blue Spirit mask before he exited the house. He'd use it, but it surely wouldn't become an alter-ego. He wouldn't become a new person when he wore it. He'd still be Prince Zuko, wouldn't he? Just Zuko without a scar. Just Zuko without a legacy. Just Zuko without…

Just Fire Prince Zuko, but without everything that made him so.


End file.
